


What Happens In...

by convolutedConcussion



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Emotional Constipation, F/M, That One Vegas Cliche
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-22 00:00:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7410385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/convolutedConcussion/pseuds/convolutedConcussion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oh, you know the cliche, the group goes to Vegas to blow off some steam, rivers of liquor are consumed, and a wedding happens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Happens In...

There’s an alarm going off that’s splitting straight through her skull, tearing her brain apart, but when she opens her eyes the light is too much and she feels like they’re gonna melt outta her skull.  Whining weakly, she turns her face into the pillow, drags the blanket over her head, groans against a rush of nausea.  The alarm is still blaring, she slaps the body next to her, ordering, “Turn it off, turn it off!”  The body rumbles but rolls away and the noise stops.  The blanket tugs, and she fights for a moment before relinquishing it and letting whoever it is curl under it with her.

“I have…” she moans, “ _Never_ been this hungover.  In my _life_.”  Considering her general habits, that’s saying something.

A hand lands heavily on her bare back.  She supposes it’s meant to be comforting, but the heat of it sends another, stronger wave of nausea through her.  She’s not sure how she makes it to the bathroom but she _does_ and she’s pretty sure she pukes up her kidneys before she realizes she’s very much naked.  Before she leaves, she drags a towel around herself.  Stumbling, she makes her way back into the room and looks around at the discarded clothes dazedly.

“This isn’t my room,” she mumbles, rubbing her eyes.

“No shit, Sherlock,” says the lump on the bed.

She knows that voice.

Her suspicions are confirmed when she yanks the blanket away and Dolls winces, “Turn off the sun.”

There’s something very appropriate about the fact that the one time she actually manages to sleep with him she’s too drunk to remember.  She doesn’t have too awfully long to contemplate her fate because someone starts banging on the door.  She tries to will Dolls to be the one to answer—hello, naked?—but soon the noise is just too much to handle.  So, adjusting the towel, she yanks the door open.

Almost immediately, Waverly starts, “Dolls have you seen—oh.  Hi, Wynonna?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” she murmurs, pressing her face to the doorjamb.

“That’s—okay, um, we’re gonna miss our flight if you two don’t get dressed,” her sister says, face suddenly unreadable.

Wynonna lets out another low groan and nods, “We’ll be out in a few, meet us in the lobby?”

“Sure, Nicole’s already got your bag, so,” she trails off and her eyebrows dance for a moment.

By the time she closes the door, Dolls is already yanking his jeans on.  “How are you not sick?” she accuses.

 “You planning on flying home in that towel?” he asks blandly.

“I was thinking about it,” she jokes lamely, stooping to pick up her discarded jeans.  It takes some searching, but she’s able to find _almost_ everything, and while his back is turned she struggles into what she has found.  She’s just hooking her bra when he turns back and _promptly_ whips away again and she snorts, “Dude, I woke up in your bed naked.”

He huffs but doesn’t turn around again.

After a few more fruitless minutes, she sighs, “Okay, have you seen my shirt?”

“Not since last night,” he replies.

Heaving a long breath, she scrubs her forehead and mumbles exasperatedly, “Can I borrow one of yours?”

“In my suitcase.”

She tugs on a too-big henley and zips the case back up.  “Alright,” she claps, “Let’s go.”

He grunts some sort of agreement as she snags her purse and tosses it over her shoulder, and she feels him crowd behind her when she gets the door.  The elevator ride is… uncomfortable, to say the least.  A couple of times, she thinks _maybe_ he’s looking at her, but when she tilts her head he’s staring straight ahead.  Before they hit the first floor, she starts to ask, “Do you remember if we…”

“No.”

“Oh,” she breathes.

She starts to ask if he’s regretting suggesting they take a break after all when the elevator dings.  She falls silent.  Nicole and Wave are waiting in the spacious lobby, eyes bright and chatting close.  Nicole hands her a bottle of water when they come out, smirking knowingly, and Wynonna shoots her sister a quick look because is there _anything_ that she doesn’t tell her girlfriend?  The answer is no, and Waverly gives her an innocent smile.

“We’re all checked out, you just need to turn in your keys,” she tells Dolls.

“Give me your key, I’ll take it up,” he offers, pitched low near Wynonna’s ear.

Something about it feels familiar in a way that bothers her, sends warmth all through her, and she busies herself with digging in her purse, passing her keycard over when she finds it.  As he’s walking away, she finds a folded piece of paper and pulls it out with a confused frown.  It takes her a full minute after unfolding it to really process the words _Marriage License_.

“Um, so,” she finally starts, mouth dry.  “Anyone wanna know Dolls’ birthday?”

Nicole snags the license from her and immediately dissolves into laughter, doubling over as Waverly takes it and reads over it.  “What on earth…” she mutters, looking for the world like she’s trying to suppress her own amusement.

Dolls approaches soon after, just as they’re starting to sober, but upon seeing him they burst, holding onto each other as Wave holds the paper out at him.  He takes it, eyes it, looks at Wynonna, and says precisely nothing.  For a while.  Then, when he does speak, it’s a dull, “We need to get going.”

\--

On the flight back, someone—Wynonna is willing to bet it was Nicole—told the flight crew they were newlyweds on their way to their honeymoon.  Red-faced, she accepts congratulations, tries not to snicker when, after someone asks about rings, Waverly pipes, “They spent all their money on the trip!  Isn’t that adorable?”

It gets a little better when they’re airborne.  This time she got the aisle seat, Dolls stuck in the middle, Waverly and Nicole across the aisle.  She keeps flipping open the marriage license, rereading it, folding it back up, shoving it back in her bag.  Rinse, repeat.  Eventually, he leans close, assuring her gently that they can get it annulled, that it’s not a big deal, that it’s such a Thing that they make _movies_ about this shit.  He’s right, she knows he’s right, but it’s just so… _bizarre_.  That’s it.  It’s just strange.

Eventually, she falls asleep, nodding off against his shoulder.  She doesn’t dream, not really.  Swirling patterns and images half-remembered.  When they land, Nicole shakes her awake, hovering over her.

“Mrs. Dolls,” she croons.  “Wake up your husband.”

“You’re the _worst_ ,” she whines, thoughtlessly nuzzling Dolls’ arm.  “Hey,” she murmurs, staring in something she’ll _never admit_ is wonder at his sleeping face.  He just looks so soft.  Soon, though, she realizes what _exactly_ she’s doing (read:  being kinda creepy) and starts shoving him until he starts awake.  “Oh, good, you’re up,” she yawns.  “We were just gonna leave you.”

“You’re funny,” he grunts.

\--

The thing about Revenants is that they have the _worst_ timing.  Almost as soon as they step foot back on the homestead, they get the call.  From there, they don’t breathe for a week without being in action.  She’s taken out more Revs in seven days than she thinks she did in the whole eight months since she came back to Purgatory.  By the time she puts a bullet in Stupid Carl’s brain, she’s exhausted.  She needs a nap and to drain an entire bar.  She says as much when she’s back in the SUV with Dolls.  He looks at her sympathetically and she remembers that he also hasn’t slept this whole time.

She doesn’t remember the ride home, maybe she dozes off.  Next thing she knows, he’s rubbing her shoulder and saying very softly, “Hey, Earp, get up.”

“Leave me here to die,” she groans dramatically.

“Can’t do that, we still have forty-odd Revs to dispatch,” he smiles.

Sighing, she bobs her head and shoves herself out of the cab.  Before shutting the door, she calls, “Come inside, you haven’t eaten real food since Vegas.”

“You have real food in there?” he asks as he follows her up to the door.

“Nicole is, apparently, a very good influence,” she smirks, knocking her elbow against his.  His hand skims her lower back as she leads him inside.  “I’ll make you a sandwich, but, if I hear _one joke_ about it, I’m gonna introduce you to my nail gun.”

Breathing a soft chuckle, he shakes his head.  “You don’t have to.”

“I know,” she shrugs.  “Go sit, boss.”

He must be pretty tired, because he obeys her order with no complaint.  Digging in the fridge, she yawns and piles lettuce, tomatoes, onions, and sliced chicken in her arms.  She kinda loses focus halfway through slicing things, which isn’t alarming at all when she’s holding a sharp knife.  What _is_ alarming is that she knows he won’t want tomatoes on his sandwich, and he prefers brown mustard to any other condiments.  Lucky for her, in her state of utter fucking exhaustion, she’s able to shove it away pretty easily.  She snags a bag of chips and takes the food out to the living room where Dolls is slumped on the couch.

There’s silence as they eat until he says, “This is good.”

She snorts back, “Yeah, well, you’re starving.”

\--

“That’s my bed,” she grumbles.

He cracks one eye open, stretched out across the couch, but doesn’t say anything.

“You asked for this,” she sighs.  With very little thought—it’s _her_ bed and she’s very tired, after all—she climbs over him and flops on top of his chest.  He grunts but doesn’t move.

What she doesn’t expect is to be so _affected_ by it because he’s warm and she can feel the rise and fall of his chest.  She wriggles a little until she’s half-lodged between him and the back of the couch.  His steady heartbeat lulls her to sleep.  And she sleeps _hard_ , waking up disoriented when she hears giggling nearby.  Bleary-eyed, she picks her head up off his chest and finds that Nicole is the source of it, Waverly just behind her and covering her mouth looking like Christmas came early.

Shoving weakly at Dolls’ solid shoulder, she mutters, “Up, we got an audience.”

With a groan (and without opening his eyes), he rolls off the couch and onto his feet, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes.  Freed, she drops her head onto the arm of the couch.

“I got you guys a cake!” Nicole chimes from the doorway.

That’s inducement enough to drive Wynonna to her feet.

She immediately wants to go back to sleep when she sees that the cake has “Happy One-Week Anniversary!” scrawled across it.  “Why are you like this?” she demands.

The door opens again and Doc steps in.  As he comes closer, he drawls, “What’s the occasion?”

“Didn’t Mr. and Mrs. Dolls tell you?” Nicole gasps, beaming.  She really is enjoying this too damn much.  “They eloped while we were on vacation.”

“Actually,” Wynonna quips, swiping a frosting rose with her finger and popping it into her mouth.  “We talked it over, and Dolls is taking _my_ last name.”

Without missing a beat, Doc takes off his hat and places it solemnly over his heart, responding, “Well, I can’t imagine a more deserving man to take on the Earp name, nor one so equipped for it.”

Dolls looks up like he’s searching for patience.

\--

In a rare moment of peace, Wynonna goes through her email to clear it out.  Somewhere in there, she finds an email from Viva Las Vegas Weddings with a subject line reading, “Your Pictures Are Ready!”  Telling herself it’s strictly curiosity, she thumbs the link in the email.  She’s taken to a page that shows about a dozen pictures of her and Dolls, _very_ drunk but smiling, laughing, kissing.  It gives her a weird sort of pang to look at them.

She locks the phone when her sister stumbles sleepily into the living room.  Waverly plops next to her with a loud yawn.  “Why are you up?” she mumbles, leaning into Wynonna’s shoulder.

“It’s not _that_ early,” she answers.  Chewing the inside of her cheek, she considers her next words carefully.  She decides on, “Wanna laugh?”

She passes over her phone and hears her sister coo over the pictures.  “These are _sweet_ ,” Waverly laughs, flicking through them.  “You should have them printed.  Especially this one.”  When she holds it up, it’s a shot that—okay, it’s pretty cute.  Their mouths are mashed together, laughing, eyes squeezed shut.  “You two look so happy.”

“Well, we did just drink our weight in tequila,” Wynonna replies pointedly.

She just hums in response.  “When are you getting it annulled?”

Shuffling her shoulders, Wynonna mutters, “We’ve been busy.”

Her sister gives her a curious look but doesn’t say anything else.  They eat leftover cake for breakfast in almost complete silence.

\--

When Dolls wordlessly sets a to-go box practically overflowing with dumplings, Wynonna can’t help the soft, “Oh, I think I love you,” that escapes her.

She _really_ likes dumplings.

Now, she doesn’t really _process_ what she’s said until she realizes that he’s still holding her rice hostage, half-suspended over the table, staring at her.  “Don’t make it weird,” she mutters, taking the carton from his stiff hands.

“Yeah, I’m the one making it weird,” he responds dryly.

“So,” she starts hesitantly, “Any luck on the marriage-front?”

She catches the way his eyes shift as he shovels a too-big bite of noodles into his mouth.  “I’m talking to a lawyer,” comes his enigmatic answer.

“Well, that sounds mysterious,” she laughs.

They lock eyes for a moment and the air feels suddenly charged.  He doesn’t say anything, though, and she’s the first to drop her gaze, popping a piece of spicy chicken into her mouth and absently sucking the hot sauce off her fingers.  In the back of his throat, he makes a noise like a chuckle.  She’s gorging herself with dumplings when someone knocks at the door.

Nedley pushes in, gestures at them in a short motion, and says quickly, “We’ve got a situation.”

Dolls must be able to read her mind because as he stands he says, “Put it in the fridge—you’re not eating in the SUV.”

\--

Everything’s a little fuzzy but she hears one thing clearly:  “She’s my _wife_.”

It’s said in a quiet sort of desperation but she hears it like he’s shouting and through the haze her heart flutters. Moments later, hand covers hers and she pries open her heavy eyelids, an exhausting effort in itself, slurring, “Wha’happened?”

“You were a big damn hero,” Dolls says softly, face tight.  “Get some rest, Earp.”

“You’ll stay?” she asks, too tired to be embarrassed.

“Yeah,” he whispers, “Yeah, of course.”

“Wave?” she presses, eyes falling shut again.

“On her way—go to _sleep_ , Wynonna.”

Satisfied, she drifts off in a dizzy cloud of painkillers.  She remembers later that she dances in and out of consciousness, hears voices that are familiar but saying things she can’t quite make out.  It’s hard to say if her visitors are real, a kaleidoscope of different people, Nicole and Doc and Wave and Gus and Dolls (though Dolls doesn’t seem to leave) and she thinks even Nedley swings by.  Wave tells her it’s been a few days when she’s lucid enough to have a conversation.

“I’m gonna need someone to start sneaking me real food,” Wynonna grumbles, poking at her limp salad with her fork.

“Not me, your doctor’s intense,” her sister says quickly.

Looking sideways at Dolls who’s on her other side, something soft and private in her smile, she coaxes, “Please, boss?”

“Right now?”

“Unless you want me to starve,” she shrugs.

Rolling his eyes, he stands and mutters, “Fine, but you’re eating something with vegetables in it.”

“They better be deep-fried!” she calls after him.  After he’s gone, she grabs Waverly’s hand.  “Are you okay?”

She’s got this look on her face like she may start crying at any moment.  “Better than you,” she laughs weakly.

“Oh, it’s not that bad, these drugs are _fantastic_ ,” Wynonna teases.  Her sister looks at her and she continues, “Don’t make that face.”

“You could have _died_ , Wyn,” she whispers.

“I didn’t though,” she replies gently, squeezing her hand.  “Waves, I’m okay.”

\--

“I’m so tired of being in the hospital,” Wynonna sings with false cheer, dragging her pillow over her face.  Dolls takes it away, amusement in his gaze.  “Can I go home?  Can’t you just like.  Flash your badge and take me _home_?”

“No, because you need to be _here_ until you’re healed enough to be discharged,” he reminds her lowly.

“Well, it’s the worst, and I don’t care what Penthouse says _nothing_ sexy happens during sponge baths,” she huffs, letting him help her to sit up in spite of the pain to prop her pillow behind her shoulders.  His lips twist like he’s trying _not_ to smile.  “Careful, I think I’m starting to get to you.”

“Sure, Earp,” he chuckles, smoothing her hair.

“Kinda like you takin’ care of me,” she teases, only half-serious.

“Don’t get used to it,” he replies.

“I thought that was sorta the point?” she laughs, waggling her eyebrows.  “In sickness and health, dude.”

“Don’t call me dude,” he mumbles absently.  “I gotta get back to the station now that you’re not on the brink of death.  Think you can make it a few hours without me?”

“Doubtful, keep your phone on.”

His fingertips brush the back of her hand as he leaves and it burns.  She massages the spot and tries not to think about it.  Not thinking about it should get marginally easier when her door opens and Nicole pokes her head in about an hour later.

“I brought breakfast for lunch,” she grins, holding a plastic bag out in front of her.

“I knew I liked you for a reason,” Wynonna responds.

“Pancakes smothered in butter, extra chewy bacon, and strawberries,” the cop says triumphantly, setting a Styrofoam box on the small table in front of her.

“Is this because I’m in the hospital or is this because you want something?” she asks, suddenly suspicious.

“Little of both?” Nicole smiles innocently.  “Wave said you had wedding pictures.”

“No, you’re having too much fun with this as it is!” Wynonna cries.  Her resolve lasts about as long as it takes for Nicole to break out the puppy pout, eyes wide and chin tilted.  Groaning, she waves at her phone, plugged in next to the bed, “Fine!  Grab that for me?”  Not that she’d willingly admit it, but she’s got the pictures saved on her phone.  She taps to the right folder and passes it back.

“These are _amazing_ ,” Nicole laughs gently.

“Yeah, yeah,” she murmurs, “I’m gonna have a talk with my sister.”

\--

When she’s discharged, Dolls takes her back to the homestead and between him and Doc she’s able to walk inside.  They set her gently on the couch, and she’s a little mortified by the amount of effort the trip took.  Someone tugs off her boots but she’s already got her face mashed into the cushion.  She mumbles her thanks and she hears Dolls tell Doc not to let her take her meds with alcohol.  When fingers comb through her hair, she lifts her head a little into the touch, lets her hair be brushed out of her eyes.

“Leaving already?”

Dolls exhales quickly through his nose.  “Some of us have work to do, and since you’re slacking…”

Looking past him, she asks Doc, “See what I have to put up with?”

His mustache twitches with amusement as Dolls leaves.  “I see married life suits you,” he teases lightly.

“Not you, too,” she mumbles woefully.

“You are forgetting, Wynonna,” he says, sitting next to the couch in a ratty armchair, “I saw you two kiss.”  Thoughtfully, he takes off his hat and sets it in his lap.  “Allow me, if you will, to tell you something I learned a long time ago.  Love, the kind that makes you want to be your best self, is very rare.  When you find it, you dig your claws in and _hold on_.”  He pauses a moment.  “Dolls is a good man.”

“Still freaks me out,” she muses.

“Hmm?”

Smiling, she traces the pattern on the cushion under her with her nail.  “That you like him.”

He laughs, “A good brawl will do that.”

She considers that for a while before sighing, “I think I need to sleep now.”

\--

If there’s one thing _everyone_ knows with absolute certainty, it’s that Wynonna Earp is not the marrying type.  She’s too damaged, too inconstant, too rash.  She doesn’t have the self-control to be loyal.  She’s too distant to let anyone really touch her heart, guards herself with prickling layers of anger and pain.  Inside, that’s all she is.  Some might even say that, with the exception of her sister, she’s incapable of both loving and being loved.  She’s wild, crazy, broken.

Those thoughts crowd inside her, biting and clawing, destroying every good thing.  She feels sick with them, and there’s a niggling voice in the back of her mind that whispers, _Because it’s all true_.  When she goes back to work, she tries to swallow all that, but the ugly, angry hate clings to her throat.  Something must show on her face because as soon as he sees her Dolls asks, “Are you sure you’re ready to come back?”

Forcing a smile that looks more like a grimace, she nods, “Of course I am.  One more day on the couch and I’ll put down roots.”

“Alright,” he mumbles, unconvinced.  “Don’t overextend yourself.”

“So, what did I miss?” she snaps, drumming her fingers impatiently on the table.

He hands her a couple of files, replying coolly, “Couple attacks, no fatalities.  Whoever it was was sloppy, disorganized.  Got a few witness statements.”  He pauses, too close.  “Waverly’s narrowed it down to a couple different possibilities.”

Hand resting on the butt of Peacemaker, she says firmly, “Let’s do this.”

\--

“I’m craving Indian food,” Wynonna blurts.  She realizes she’s said it too loud because Dolls jumps a little.  She reaches over and pushes the screen of his laptop halfway down.  “C’mon, it’s way past dinnertime.  Let’s go eat.”

He looks at her a little curiously but nods.  “Alright, let’s get outta here,” he says finally, closing the laptop and pushing to his feet.

Suddenly jittery, she follows him outside where the sky’s already gone dark.  They’re close enough as they trudge out to the SUV that the backs of their hands brush and it makes something giddy and childish rise up in her chest.  When she looks over, his eyes are on her.  It’s a relief when they part ways to hop in.  She finds herself a little fixated on small things, the flex of his fingers when he turns the key in the ignition, the way he fiddles delicately with the radio, his relaxed grip on the wheel.  In her lap, she twists her hands and forces herself to stare out her window.

“So,” he drawls after a few minutes of silence.  “I should have the paperwork for the annulment in the next few days.”

“Oh,” she breathes, distracted.  “Cool.”

“You okay?” he asked, concerned.  “I would’ve thought you’d be more excited.”

“My excited face is being overshadowed by my I-want-lamb-vindaloo face, sorry,” she jokes, finally meeting his gaze with a smirk.  “But I’m very excited.”

“Sure sounds like it,” he mumbles, pulling in front of a small restaurant.

Eager to eat and put some distance between her and this conversation which is making her increasingly anxious for no good reason, she leads the way inside.  She tells the hostess, “Booth for two, please,” feeling him follow behind her.  When he sits across from her, his eyes are oddly shuttered, and the restaurant is too-dark, too-intimate.  She finds herself staring down at the menu.

\--

Lips still spice-bruised, Wynonna pushes her way into the front door, carrying her leftovers limply in one hand.  She jumps when she sees Waverly coming down the hall—she’s been spending more time than not at Nicole’s, Wynonna never expects to see her.  She makes herself smile, musing, “What could the occasion be that would bring my sister home?”

“Funny,” Wave snorts.  “Nicole’s working graveyard.”

“Ah, I see, so I’m the second choice,” she sighs, feigning sadness.

“You caught me,” she quips, holding her hands up in surrender.  “What’d you get?”

“I’ve got,” Wynonna says, opening the bag, “Lamb and rice and some naan.  Want some?”

“Yes, but what’s wrong?”

“Does something have to be wrong for me to share leftovers with my little sister?” she asks, wounded.

Looking at her like she’s missed something, Waverly nods slowly and replies, “Yeah.”

“There’s nothing _wrong_ ,” Wynonna insists, handing the bag over.  “I mean, Dolls says he’ll have the stuff for the annulment soon.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” she asks hesitantly.

“Yeah!  Yeah, of course it is,” she mutters, gaze shifting to a picture frame just over her sister’s shoulder.

“But…”

Feeling a little like she’s gonna burst, Wynonna sputters, “But!  But I—he’s so—I might really… like him?”  Still not looking at her, she continues in a rush, “And might even love him a little?”  Once the words are said she feels both like she can _breathe_ again and kinda like she wants to swallow them back up.  She regrets the confession because now it’s _real_ and there’s an echo through her mind ( _wild, broken, crazy)_.

Strip of naan dangling out of her mouth, Wave stares at her for a moment before finishing her bite.  “Sorry, I—I thought maybe, but I didn’t expect you to come out and _say it_ ,” she responds dazedly.

“One helluva vote of confidence,” she snorts.

“Well, can you blame me?” Waverly teases.  After a moment, she looks down.  “Are you gonna tell him?”

“I thought I’d just pretend it’s not true until the problem goes away,” Wynonna answers honestly.

“Only you would call being in love with someone who clearly cares about you a problem,” she sighs.  “You should talk to him.”  She looks down at the food and mumbles, “I’m taking this.  Goodnight.”

“Night,” she calls.  “You’re welcome, by the way!”

\--

Thrusting Peacemaker back into its holster, Wynonna stares for a long time at the spot where the Rev was dragged back into hell and tries to shove away the twinge that never quite goes away.  “Nice work, Earp,” Dolls says, nudging her elbow.

She dips her head to hide her pleased smile.  “C’mon, it was a team effort,” she jokes.  “You get at least twenty percent credit,” she jokes.

“Twenty, that’s hilarious,” he mumbles, rubbing his chin.

There’s a moment when they’re just smiling at one another, and the words are spilling out before she can stop them, “I don’t want to get the annulment.”  Eyes going wide, she plows ahead, “I mean—we can still _get_ it, but I… want to be with you?  Wow, I’m bad at this.”

“You’re doing just fine,” Dolls murmurs.

“So, those are about my feelings on the matter,” she says, waving one arm in an awkward, vague sort of gesture.  “It’s—it’s okay if you don’t feel the same way, I just…” she trails off, unable to fully articulate the thing that’s been pressing outward against her ribs.  “I know you’re my boss, but I figure once we, uh, got married, the whole fraternization thing flew out the window.”

Chuckling, he reaches out, his fingers brush her hips.  “I’m gonna kiss you, okay?”

She starts to say, “Well, get on it,” when his lips mash into hers.  Moaning softly, she wraps her arms around his neck to tug him closer, the aching thing in her chest melting away.  “I can’t believe—” she gasps.

He stills, hands coming up to cup her face.  “You don’t even know,” he whispers warmly.  “You’re so much more than people think, Wynonna Earp.”

**Author's Note:**

> In spite of the fact that I did a ridiculous amount of research in to what qualifies you for an annulment in Canada, I actually didn't use most of it and ended up doing lots of hand-waving because this was never gonna be a fic on the intricacies of divorce court. That being said, I now know way more about this shit than necessary for someone who's never getting married.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Feel free to swing by my [Tumblr](http://johnisntevendead.tumblr.com) and talk to me, prompt fics, yell, whatevs.


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